Waiting.

Why is it that we can have so many fragmented phrases bubbling up within us, affecting, memorable, and eloquent,
Yet when we try to express it it turns incoherent and weightless?

All of a sudden,
The blank space here that always helps remains blank,
All of a sudden it feels like a task to fill it up.

I've been rather emotional lately.

There. I said it,
And have I been honest like this before?

.
I require sleep.
I need to do some things right,
And I don't want to be so so sensitive, I really don't.

But if someone gets angry at you for the little things,
It really, really
Doesn't help.

E-learning day and I'm back at school,
Feeling bulky and thin, weighty and like I'm maintained by a thread.

Some days you laugh so hard at jokes
But you tear up so easily, too.

I only wanted your opinion on things;
Not an argument.

.
I heard sniffling in the bathroom,
A foreign language, a somewhat monotone way of speaking when it pains you,
And a vulnerability poured into a phone call.

It was the cleaner
The one that you greet daily, the one that smiles

'is everything okay?' you ask,
Despite common sense telling you to leave it.

And there wasn't an answer,
Only squeezed smiles and a string of questions to extract trivialities from your mouth, for you to take the hint and let it go, for you to not ask further.

Indeed, I shouldn't have acted over familiar.

Then there are some other things, too...